


Devotion

by oceansinmychest



Category: Wentworth (TV)
Genre: Body Worship, F/F, Kinktober 2017, Season/Series 03
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-08
Updated: 2017-10-08
Packaged: 2019-01-10 12:45:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 640
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12299499
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oceansinmychest/pseuds/oceansinmychest
Summary: The door is locked, the blinds are drawn shut. No one pays any attention to the sin. Vera serves Joan.





	Devotion

**Author's Note:**

> SugarSweetRomantic/@SugarAuthor encouraged me to start up on kinktober. Not sure I'll be able to fulfill a prompt a day since I've been busy, but here goes. :) 
> 
> I also know I need to catch up on answering comments. Sorry about that. Life is hectic!
> 
> Usually, I preplan everything. This was written spontaneously.

> Day 7: Body Worship

“May I?” Vera asks.

In all this time, Joan wonders where her deputy gained the audacity of such a forward approach. From behind the desk, her rigid throne of authority, Governor Ferguson raises a brow. Coal for eyes threaten to start aflame. She stares at her deputy's hands that betray her cutting blow. With her nails grazing her knuckles, her fingers lace together. Now, Vera hides them behind her back. She's learning.

After all, she has had a very effective mentor.

This is before the titular downward spiral.

The nuance, itself, begins late in the evening. Staff rotations have been fulfilled. Time-off requests are denied or accepted. The efficiency of Ferguson's bureaucracy keeps the cogs well-oiled. Joan aligns her pencils – toy soldiers ready for the sacrifice – one by one. Her tongue strikes the roof of her mouth akin to flint in a gun.

“You may,” she responds after a near painful silence.

Curiosity wins this battle.

Kitten heels fall silent. Her disciple steps out of them. Lines them up in a way that Joan prefers. They're perfectly even, much to Joan's relief. Vera comes around; her nylon stockings manage to provide a soft cushion.

The door is locked, the blinds are drawn shut.

No one pays any attention to the sin.

From behind, Vera eases the Governor out of her blazer. She feels the weight of the crown, the wool, the rich texture that threatens to flay her fingertips. On the back of Joan's chair, she hangs it. The mouse's paws linger on those crowns. From the corner of her eye, Joan notices.

She says nothing.

That bit of information is tucked away. Stored for a later, more destructive use.

On the tips of her toes, Vera comes around. She's aware of who and what she's dealing with. Joan could crush her career, her personal life, and her body all in the blink of her eye. But she doesn't. Vera finds it more arousing than she cares to admit.

Joan lets her continue.

Imbues her with this false sense of power.

The tie is loosened though it hangs heavy around her neck, her breasts strained against the buttons of her blouse. Yet, the shirt remains intact. Vera falls to her knees where she belongs. There's an intimacy to the act more profound than sex. Joan, in turn, finds it exhilarating.

Miss Bennett knows who she belongs to.

Her rosy cheek rests in the lap of her maker. A reverent touch slithers down her thighs, her calves. Hopeless devotion exists within a single caress. Joan's frozen heart doesn't thaw, but _oh_ , it could fucking shatter.

The teeth of her zipper groan. Down, her trousers come. Adoring kisses litter the expanse of her toned thighs and even, in a braver moment, over her panties. They pool around her ankles. Joan clutches at the arms of her leather chair. Hot breath scorches her already burning center. She breathes, even and slow.

With her head dipped between marble pillars, Vera takes her time. Plays tribute to a misunderstood God.

At least, that's her misconception.

For now.

A shy touch ventures past the dark thatch of curls nestled there. Her hungry tongue traces up and down that wet slit. Circles her clit before dipping inside. She sucks and fucks an altar that's been most true.

Vera takes her time in the act of worship. She adds a finger only when it's necessary. The might of Joan's leg comes crashing down atop her shoulder, pulls her closer to her cunt. Two more fingers accompany the first after a proper adjustment.

A solemn groan indicates her pleasure, accompanied by the shortness of breath, but it's not enough to lose composure. To come undone.

Her disciple continues to kneel despite the bruises, the pain, and worships the only person she knows to be true.

 


End file.
